Choices
by Runzia
Summary: 5 Years Gone After Hiro and Ando take off, Mohinder is left by himself to deal with the aftermath. He isn't sure what has happened outside the room. Who won the battle outside the room? SLASH


The dust settles and Mohinder pushes the door off of him with a grunt. He coughs on the debris thickened air and squints around in the settling dusk. He knows something is distinctly wrong. He can feel it. He isn't wrong when a tall figure stands in front of him.

"Nathan…" he begins, and then frowns.

He's pretty sure Nathan isn't that tall, but… the suit is one of Nathan's. _What's going on?_ Mohinder thinks, slowly working his way to his feet.

"Nathan?" he asks questioningly.

Mohinder sees a slow spread of bright white crescent in the gloom and ice runs through his blood. He takes a quick, shaky step back. He hasn't been this frightened since… since… _Since five years ago, when I had Sylar… Sylar._

"Oh fuck," slips out of Mohinder's mouth, undignified phrase making the smile brighter.

Sylar shakes the dust out of his –_not Nathan's_- suit and walks into Mohinder's personal space. Mohinder trembles, various self-deprecating thoughts running through his mind like sounds through a forest.

There's a soft brush of fingers over his cheek. "Hello, Mohinder."

Mohinder's body is frozen with two opposing impulses. One to cringe away from Sylar and the other to lean into him. Mohinder is disturbed that there are even _two_ choices.

Because there shouldn't be. 

----

"You look so shocked," Sylar states looking very amused. "Then again, you _would_ be. It's in your personality."

Mohinder's reply flies out his mouth without a thought. "You don't _know_ me!"

Sylar raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?" Mohinder swallows at Sylar's intense expression. "Here am I thinking I've known you for about… five years. Well, if you want to get _technical_, I've only known you personally for about four and a half years. Nathan was a little hard to get to, but then I met this girl."

Mohinder's thoughts are fast flying, his own curiosity warring with the need to somehow get away or incapacitate Sylar. _Something._ But Mohinder is very curious about the girl that Sylar met. _Mohinder you need to leave!_ He tries to push away the ill feeling he has about Sylar being with someone.

"She was really sort of cute," Sylar says smirking, lessening the space between him and Mohinder. "And a good lay, but really annoyingly bratty. She had the amazing ability to… Guess!" His eyebrows quirk at Mohinder invitingly.

Mohinder's first response would be to say something rude to Sylar, but what ends up coming out of his mouth is, "Shape shifting." Mohinder doesn't form it as a question, he's quite sure.

Sylar chuckles. "I'll never get tired of seeing your confidence." He brushes another hand over Mohinder's face and feigns a hurt expression when Mohinder trips over his feet to get out of Sylar's reach. "Anyway, Candace was nice for a while. But she was like sugar free evil. I don't know. She _rubbed_ me the wrong way. So one day… I came up with a, a _brilliant_ plan. And well… Ya see." He winks at Mohinder.

Mohinder is _not_ amused. In fact, he's counting the seconds until Sylar gets to the point.

Sylar's eyes narrow at him. "About that… I remember when I used to be unable to wait for anything. I was… anxious, yes, I _like_ that word, anxious to get my hands on any ability that came across my path. But over time, Mohinder, I learned to wait, as you can see." Sylar gives him a strange look.

Mohinder, frightened by the dark things stirring about in the corners of his mind, darts around Sylar and out the door. He slides, arms flailing, to stop at the body on the floor.

_Oh my…_

His heartbeat slows and Mohinder bends over, hands braced against the walls feeling faint. He fights for air, but it's thickened with the stench of blood and when he moves slightly, he starts gagging. He jerks away from the wall, tears sliding down his face because he isn't quite sure what to do with Peter Pretrelli's blood on his hands. He makes more choking sounds deep in his throat, mourning Peter and thinking of how Sylar really _is_ quite unstoppable now.

"Don't mind him," Sylar says blasé, flapping a hand at Peter –_Peter's body_- and stepping over the large pools of blood. "You and me have plans."

Mohinder whirls around to face Sylar and the very sight of the man makes him nauseous. He breathes deeply –_Peter's blood, Peter's flesh, blood, dead_- and tries to prevent himself from fainting.

"My, you've always been sort of squeamish, haven't you?" Sylar observed. "I simply can't afford to be in my line of work. Well, actually, now-"

"Shut up!" Mohinder shouts finally, tears blurring his eyes. "Just shut UP, you bloody murderer! Shut up! Just! Stop! TALKING!" The words hurt to say, and it's a wonder Mohinder's lips aren't bloody from the sheer force of saying them.

Sylar's face twitches and Mohinder is pressed up against the wall in seconds. "Mohinder, get off your high horse and take a good, deep look into the mirror, mmm kay? All of the things you have done over years? You're in no position to talk. Do you remember the first time you called me a murderer?"

Mohinder turns his face away, with his hands pushing at a rock solid chest. _I don't want to think. No. It's not the same. Is it?_

Sylar rubs the side of Mohinder's face with his. "Yessssssss," he hisses into Mohinder's ear. "You had the gun pointed at me. Not for the good of humanity, but for your own. Selfish. Reasons." Sylar releases Mohinder, watching Mohinder tremble on wobbly legs.

Mohinder's voice rings brittle in the ice encased room. "You just want to use me." It's a stupid statement, but Mohinder would choose death before helping Sylar any longer.

Sylar laughs quietly, looping his arm around Mohinder's waist and dragging him down the hallway. "Like you haven't used me, or should I say, _Nathan_? But wait you actually _did_ use me." Sylar pats Mohinder's arm lightly. "We have so much in common."

Mohinder opens his mouth to say something, only when they come to the bend in the hallway, the hallway is-

"What?" is Mohinder's eloquent statement.

The hallway is gone because the building is gone. Gone. Gone. _As if blasted away from the looks of it._ Mohinder turns a wild eye stare on Sylar.

Sylar doesn't look at him. "I'll admit that Peter Pretrelli was a worthy adversary. Much more so than his brother, niece, and well, his mom too, I guess."

Mohinder's eyes widen. _Angela Pretrelli had died in a freak accident in the kitchen…_ Or so he thought. A new, stronger wave of sickness hits Mohinder so hard he weaves against Sylar. Sylar steadies him.

"Careful, don't wanna take a dive over the edge." Sylar himself looks over the edge, giddily humming at the chaos below. "Anyway, I need you to give the rest of these inferior beings that special serum you've cooked up."

Mohinder doesn't say anything.

"Look, since you've found a way to take away abilities, I'm sure there's a way to do the opposite." He leans close to Mohinder's ear, smelling dark curls before he whispers, "Wouldn't you like that?"

Mohinder doesn't let his mind go there, although it already has, and says, "I'm not helping you. I'd rather die."

Sylar twists his face up in a childlike expression of a glower. "Don't be so dramatic. I've come to sort of like you over the years." Sylar takes off Mohinder's broken glasses, repairing them with a twist of his hand and places them gently back on Mohinder's face.

_What do you mean?_ Mohinder thinks, images of things he's wondered about Nathan over the years turning over in his mind. There were certain touches or slight pronunciations of words that made Nathan seem unlike himself. Now Mohinder knows why.

"And I know," Sylar says, turning Mohinder's face towards his, "you've come to… sort of like me too." Sylar crooks a smile, softly placing his lips upon Mohinder's.

Mohinder feels floaty for a moment, lightheaded and eager for the touch of another after so long. He staggers slightly, the force of such a light and innocent kiss. _Sylar's anything, but innocent._ Mohinder's senses clear immediately and rationality rears its ugly head.

"No!" he yells pushing Sylar away and diving off the edge.

He can't breathe since there's too much air hitting him, but it doesn't stop him from feeling terrified. He prays, Hindi and English tripping over each other his mind, as he falls through the air. _I'm so sorry… everyone._ His tears dry quickly, and he only knows he's crying from the heat behind his eyeballs. He's glad that when he hits, he won't feel pain. It'll go too quickly for that.

…

Suddenly, his body jerks violently and there's something insanely warm wrapped around him. Mohinder's hands immediately go to his middle and he encounters interlocked hands.

"I was hoping you wouldn't do that," Sylar growls in his ear. "But… I should've known. You. You are such a _fucking_ martyr! But you know what?"

_What?_

"I love it."

Sylar licks his ear and bites his neck.

Mohinder can only moan. It's so wrong and yet, so, so, _so_ good. 


End file.
